Second Chances
by chasinghayden
Summary: Just like Ellie, Peyton shows up at Sawyer's doorstep. Abandoning Sawyer just a month after her birth, she leaves her with Lucas and runs away. What happens when she wants to be in her life, just like Ellie did? Will Sawyer accept it? One-shot. Review!


**a/n: So, I'm kind of addicted to One Tree Hill. I've been since it like started but that's not really the point. I decided to write a one-shot about Sawyer Scott! I love her name, haha. Remember how Ellie showed up in season three? Well, this is similar to that. Basically, a month after Sawyer was born, Peyton packed up and left, leaving Sawyer behind with Lucas in Tree Hill. Now, she returns, almost seventeen years later. Sawyer is practically like the mirror image of Peyton, not just looks (: I really liked the idea of this but I'm not sure I like how it turned out. I'm still adjusting to writing this type of thing but enjoy! REVIEW PLEASE! (: x hayden.**

**Second Chances;  
a one-shot.**

"Sawyer, Brooke's here!" my dad yells up the stairs. I roll my eyes.

"God, Dad, I know," I say as I grab my leather jacket off of my bed. I slip it on as I quickly bolt down the stairs.

"I swear they make those skirts shorter and shorter every year," my dad mumbles as he stands at the bottom of the stairs, holding my cheerleading bag in his hands, ready for me to grab.

"This skirt isn't short," I tell him before yanking the bag from his hands. I make my way toward the front door and ignore the shoe lace that is whipping against my white sneaker.

"Sawyer."

"What?" I snap and look back at him. "I'm already late, Dad."

"Love you," he says.

"Yeah, I know," I reply a little too bitterly before opening the front door. I step out into the crisp air, slamming the door behind. I hate that door, it always slams shut even when there is just the slightest breeze.

I power-walk up to Brooke's black SUV waiting in our driveway. I'm so late for practice. Coach is going to be pissed, but for some really creepy reason she idolizes Brooke, who's like twenty years younger than Coach by the way, so I'm safe.

"You still wear that?" Brooke asks, making me snap out of my thoughts.

"Yeah," I answer. "Why?"

"It's kind of out of style," she says with smile forming on her lips. I smile back but know she didn't mention it because of fashion. She mentioned it because it has to do with my mother, my ever-so absent mother. I never really knew my mom, only for about a month when I was a baby. Then it was goodbye, Mama.

"Thanks for driving me, Brooke," I tell her as she pulls up along the curb outside of Tree Hill High School.

"Anytime, sweetie," she says in her raspy voice that ever since I was a toddler, I've loved.

I smile back before shutting the door. She begins to pull away as I walk inside and head straight for the gym.

--

I snap my gum in my mouth as I climb down the attic steps, boxes in hand. I turn the corner and enter my room, quickly but carefully, setting the two boxes of records down on my bed. I walk over to to my record player and put one of my favorites on. Imagine by John Lennon.

Much to my surprise, I skip back over to my bed and crawl on top of the soft duvet cover, crossing my legs in the process. I sigh as I trace the edges of the boxes. They're worn down, probably from being up in the attic for so long. For my fifteenth birthday, Dad tried his best to wrap them nicely, he's never been good at that, but it didn't matter 'cause I tore the wrapping paper open, then the box and looked inside. At first, I was excited. I mean, I wasn't sure how on Earth he was able to pull that off. Some of my favorites were in the boxes, ones I had been wishing for. But, my smile soon faded as my eye caught the name written in black marker on the side of the box. 'Peyton.' I looked at him, questioning him with a simple look in my eyes.

"They were your Mom's, Sawyer. I thought you'd like them." Well, you thought wrong Daddy-o.

But that was almost two years ago, as my seventeenth birthday is in exactly two days, 14 hours and 28 minutes. The records have always been in the back of my mind, like a little voice nagging at me to open them. To listen to them. To love them. But I couldn't. I just wasn't ready. What makes me ready now, exactly? I have no idea. Maybe it's because I'm almost seventeen and I'm getting older. Or maybe I'm finally getting ready to except some part of my mom into my life, even if she isn't physically here. The jacket doesn't really count, though. I found that on my own and I didn't know it was hers when I started wearing it, so don't hold it against me.

I close my eyes and take a deep breath. I begin to open the box but then the doorbell rings. Damn doorbell. I hate when people interrupt me right in the middle of Imagine. It seems to happen a lot, now that I think about it. I look at the clock, its bright red letters read 8:08. Who the hell is here? It's a Thursday night, I don't think I made plans? I groan as I push myself off of my bed. Dad is at Nathan and Haley's, watching basketball. Big surprise there.

I take my time walking down the stairs, whoever interrupted my precious music can wait. I run my hand through my curly blond hair, wincing as my fingers comb through a knot. I've decided curls are pure evil.

I turn the knob of the white door, opening it just wide enough so I'm exposed but not all the way like I'm saying "hey, come on in!" to a complete stranger.

"Can I help you?" I ask, a little weary of this person standing before me. She's tall, but only a couple inches taller than me. She's thin, like me. And she's a curly blond, like me. Before my thoughts process and my mind can react fully, she answers. Not only the question I really asked, but the one I was getting ready to answer in my head.

"I"m Peyton... I'm your mom," she says to me. I can tell she's nervous, she probably contemplated about coming here. She tries to smile even though a few tears are starting to pool in her glassy eyes. Her glassy, golden eyes just like... mine.

I just look at her and I'm not even sure if there is any sign of emotion on my face. And then, I slam the door, leaving her standing there like a lost puppy. I stand there for a few minutes, my heart pounds in my chest. And I feel like I can't breathe. And everything is getting darker like my world is caving in on me.

--

Life kind of sucks sometimes. For example, when your absent mother decides to randomly show up at your door. Totally unexpected. It really has a way of throwing stuff at you. That stuff can be amazing or it can basically be catastrophic. It might rip your life apart, shatter everything that you once worked for or believed it. Or it could help glue broken pieces back together, help start a new chapter in said life. Either way, I think life sucks. And I'm really pissed that I'm almost seventeen and already I feel like my life has begun to fall apart.

I run up to my room, swinging the door shut after me. I close my blinds and turn off every light in my room as I grab the phone off of my desk. I punch in Nathan and Haley's home number and slide down the wall closest to the window.

"Dad?" I ask as I hear a click on the other end of the line.

"No, it's Nathan. You okay, Sawyer?" Nathan answers.

"I'm fine. Sorta. Just tell dad to come home right now."

"Okay, I'll tell him. Hold on," he says. I hear Nathan shout, 'Luke, Sawyer needs you home. Sounds important.'

"Sawyer," my dad talks into the phone, "is everything okay?"

"No, it's not. I... Just come home. You need to be here," I say before pressing end on the phone. Way to sound cryptic, Sawyer.

I peek out the window, the space between the molding and the edge of the blinds lets me see a perfect view of Peyton. She's leaning against her car, just like the car I've seen in pictures. Too bad it belongs to someone like her, because it's honestly a really gorgeous car.

With a shaky sigh, I lean my head against my knees that I've pulled up to my chest. I realize I'm trembling as I try to wrap my arms around my thin legs. I try to take a deep breath, let everything settle but it's hard because I hate how much I look like her, how we're like a mirror image. We have the same eyes and the same nose. Our hair looks the same, mine's just longer. We're almost identical, even down to the mannerisms. Like the way she just tucked her hair behind her ear, the way she did it, it's exactly how I do it. The way her hand moves, it's like in sync with mine. I wish I inherited more from Dad. At least he has straight hair.

I stand up from my spot against the wall, right under the window. I don't think I want to see what exactly goes down when Dad stumbles upon his ex-lover and the mother of his child in front of his house. It probably won't be a pretty sight. Definitely not for Peyton, that is. Hm, maybe I should watch. It's the least she deserves after disappearing seventeen years ago.

But I decide against it and push myself off of the hardwood floor. I walk into my closet and head straight for the shelf with all of my CD's. I take out a random Tegan and Sara album and place it into the player. Don't you love how old school I am?

I hear the familiar squeaks of Dad's car pull into our driveway. Followed by a car door slam. Then an awkward silence but I'm only guessing it's awkward. Probably is. It's funny how sometimes you can hear things perfectly and how other times it's almost impossible. I think it all depends on whether you want to hear them or not. If it's something bad, you'll probably subconsciously tune it out. Or if it's positive, you'll be able to hear like you're a part of the conversation. In this case, I'm trying to tune out their conversation. And in case I fail, I've got my music ready to begin blaring.

Fifteen Minutes Later.

"Sawyer?"

"Sawyer?" I hear my dad say. I hear his footsteps walking down the hall.

"I'm in my room."

His footsteps grow slower but I hear them coming closer to my door. I turn the volume down on the CD player. I stand up, silently preparing myself for the conversation we're about to have. Unless God is totally on my side today and Dad decides the conversation isn't necessary but since I think God kind of hates me, I continue to prepare for the dreaded conversation.

"Sawyer, can we talk?" he asks, coming into my room.

I shrug. "Sure, but honestly, Dad, there's nothing to talk about."

"I think we should. It's time that we do."

"Dad, I-," I begin.

"Sawyer. Let me talk first, okay?" I swear he still treats me like I'm five.

I cross my arms over my chest, covering up 'The Beatles' logo that's printed across my t-shirt. "Fine, but whatever you're going to say, it won't make a difference to me."

He sighs. I can tell he's tired of dealing with me. I can't help it that I put up a wall, refuse to let people rescue me. It's just the way I'm built. Sadly, I think I get it from Peyton because I definitely don't get it from Dad. Unless he's changed since he was my age.

He looks at me, his tired eyes showing signs of giving up. I wish things weren't like this, why do our lives have to be so screwed up? But then, he backs out of my room and steps into the hallway and I hear whispers. Dad comes back into my room, with Peyton trailing behind him.

I start to shake my head, taking steps back until I hit the wall. "No, no, no, no...," I say.

"Sawyer," he starts, "just talk to her, okay? Don't you want to?"

"Dad, she left me! She left her daughter, how can I justify that to be okay? 'Cause it's not!" I scream.

"Just listen, let her talk, Sawyer."

"You've got to be kidding me, Dad! She left you too, remember?" I yell again. This is unbelievable. He's actually letting her into our house? Allowing her to speak to me? To speak to him? I shake my head once more, grab my jacket, or Peyton's jacket, off my bed and briskly brush past them. I run down the stairs, taking them two at a time. I just need to get away. Far from this place that was once familiar to me. Now, it's contaminated with Peyton and I can't stand it. I need to run far from here and maybe I'll be able to breathe. Seeing her, standing in my bedroom, my private oasis, makes me feel like I'm suffocating, choking on air, fighting for each breath.

--

"Sawyer." I hear someone whisper my name. I ran to the docks, near Brooke's store. The water always calms me.

I sit up from lying down on the wooden bench I had comfortably settled on. The breeze began to turn to wind and I pull my jacket around me a little tighter.

I don't look in the direction of the voice, I watch the water instead. I see the small waves lapping against the sides of the docks. Something about it is so comforting, it makes me feel safe. Then I feel the bench shift, someone's sitting next to me now. It's Dad.

I sigh. "What?"

"I want you to come home. It's too cold out here, Sawyer." he says to me softly.

"I'm not coming home until she's at least two states away from here," I tell him, redirecting my gaze to the moonlight shining across the water. "When she's gone, I'll come home. But for now, I'm staying here."

"Sawyer, you'll get sick out-"

"Dad, I'm not ten anymore. Don't you see that?"

"Sawyer, come on," he says, standing up. He holds out his hand to me.

"I'm not going, Dad. I'll walk to Brooke's or Haley's."

"Sawyer." I slowly look at his hand, then up at him. "Come on, let's go home," he whispers.

I contemplate ignoring him or taking his hand and letting him be my Daddy again for a few minutes. "Fine," I say. "But only because it's fucking cold out here."

"Hey!" he scorns. I let a small smile form on my lips as I reach for his hand. He pulls me up from the bench, wrapping an arm around my shoulders.

"Dad, my mother just showed up out of the blue. I think I should be able to curse since, you know, I haven't seen her in sixteen years."

He smiles and I know he loves me. He's my Dad, after all.

--

We walk into the house, no sign of Peyton's car outside anymore. I shrug my jacket off and carry it up the stairs as Dad follows behind. It's late, at this point. I round the corner, toward my bedroom. Dad's still following me... Weird. I mean, his bedroom is to the right, not the left like mine. "Uh, can I help you?" I ask him, turning around as I continue walking.

He doesn't answer but looks down, shoving his hands in his pockets. And then I know why. Fucking Peyton is in my fucking room, sitting on my fucking bed, her hands folded in her lap. She looks up as I stop in my doorway. "What the hell are you still doing here?" I hiss. I turn to my Dad, who's standing against the wall in the hallway right outside of my bedroom.

"Sawyer, I think you two should-"

"What? Get to know each other? No, that opportunity passed when she left us," I say in disbelief. This is unreal. He lied to me. "You lied, Dad, you said she was gone."

"Sawyer, you're going to sit in here, with your mother and you're going to talk to her. I'm doing this because I love you, Sawyer. Now, do it," he yells before slamming my door shut, leaving me in my room alone with her. I'd never heard him raise his voice so much like that. He's usually a pretty chill Dad but... Guess not.

I scoff and shake my head at her, crossing the room silently. I throw my jacket on my desk, not saying a word.

"You know, I know a lot about you," she says quietly.

"Um, no. I don't think you do," I hiss. She's kidding, right? No way in fucking hell she knows shit about me.

"Well, I know your name is Sawyer Brooke Scott," she says, with a weak smile.

"That doesn't count. You named me," I snap at her.

Awkward silence. Yay, for those.

"So, you're a cheerleader, huh?" she starts, motioning to the picture of me and some of my cheer friends at a competition.

"What?" I snap. "I don't look like one to you? Does the black and red kinda throw you off? Sorry to disappoint."

"No," she says, smiling at little, "it's exactly how I was."

I roll my eyes and lean against the edge of my desk. "I'm nothing like you."

"I think you kind of are, actually. My bedroom was red and black when I was your age. I was a cheerleader, too. I had a leather jacket just like that one, too."

I swallow a knot in my throat. "That's because it's yours."

"It is?" she asks, her eyes lighting up a bit.

"Yeah, but I didn't know it when I started wearing it. So it's not like I wear it because it's a piece of you."

"Oh."

Awkward silence, again. I run my fingers through my hair, glancing at the clock. Have we only been in here for five minutes? Seriously?

"Imagine," she nods to the record lying on my desk, next to my hand. "That's a good one."

"It's one of my favorites," I whisper.

"Really? Mine too." She's just trying to make conversation. Conversation my ass.

"Why did you come back? Do you want to ruin my life?"

"Sawyer, I-"

"You what? Wanted forgiveness? Finally wanted to play Mommy?"

"I wanted to tell you that I'm sorry for leaving you. I'm sorry for never being here," she whispers and I can tell she's trying to ignore the tears pooling in her eyes.

"Apology not accepted," I reply bitterly. She doesn't deserve my forgiveness. Hell, she doesn't even deserve a conversation with me.

"I just want to be a part of your life, Sawyer. I know I made a mistake leaving. I hate myself for that, but I want to try to make it work now. I want to be here for you."

"No. You can't. I'm almost seventeen, Peyton." She winces slightly when I call her by her name and not 'mom'. But what does she expect? Me to coming running into her arms, saying 'I love you'? "You weren't here for the first sixteen years of my life. You don't get to be my mom now."

Silence fills the room and I know my words hurt her. They dug deep, cutting into her. It's not my fault, though. She brought this on herself when she packed up and left Tree Hill when I was a baby. She could've saved herself from this by not leaving in the first place or not choosing to come back now.

"You know, Dad's been a great father to me. He's really the best, Peyton. Sure, maybe he could've done a few things better if he had you by his side but you left. Brooke and Haley became my mother figures. I don't even share the same blood with them but they treated me like their daughter. On my first day of kindergarten, Brooke, Haley, Nathan and Dad all dropped me off at school. And then they all came to pick me up, too. They were there for me, they are my family. You're not."

"Sawyer," she begins to whisper.

"No. It's my turn to talk." I take a deep breath, fighting my watering eyes. Damn tears. "And when I got my period in fifth grade, Dad didn't know how to explain it to me. He didn't know what to do. So, you know what happened? Brooke hopped on a plane and flew right back down here from New York. It didn't matter she was in the middle of a business trip. She knew she had to be there for me, so she came. And then when Dad got in an accident my freshman year, Haley held me in her arms and let me cry for a whole day while we sat in the hospital. She held me like my mom should have. She was there, Peyton, you were not. So, you have a lot of nerve coming back here after all this time, asking to be in my life. The reality is, you don't deserve to be. And I hate how you left and I hate how you came back. I hate it. I hate you."

"But?" she shrugs. I didn't notice, but she started to cry. Tears stream down her face.

"But," I say, "I'm going to give you a chance. Because I know that everyone deserves second chances no matter how much they hurt someone. So, I'm giving you a second chance, Peyton. And you better not screw it up."

She lets out a sob but a smile forms on her face, tears trickling over her lips. She clasps her shaking hands together and raises them to her mouth. "Sawyer, I love you. You know that, right?"

"Unfortunately, I do," I whisper. "I don't really understand how you can love me and have left me but I'm going to try to accept it. I'm going to try to accept you because no matter how much I hate you right now, I love you at the same time."

Honestly, I have no idea what I'm doing. Did I really just accept my absent mother into my life? What am I, high? All I know is that she's here and she's fighting for me. Fighting to be in my life, for a chance to be a part of me. For sixteen years, I've hated her. And I know I'm going to loathe her for a long time but I'm giving her a second chance. Sometimes, all people need is a second chance to make something right.

**Soooo? Like it? Hate it? I want to know what you guys think! I loved the concept but I'm not too crazy about how I wrote it. Please review, it means so much when you do! Thank yaaaa, x hayden. (:**


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